American Horror Story - Season 1-75 - Countdown
by leaftheweed
Summary: Murder House 2019. It's 3 months before the end of the world as we know it. Halloween's just a few weeks away and there's something in the air, but it sure isn't love. It's the final countdown then things get really crazy. Prologue for future Season 1.75.
1. October 2019

**2019 - Early October**

Tate woke to the misty gray of dawn bringing color to the shadows in his room. He lifted his head and peeked through his messy mop of hair and realized it wasn't his room. The walls were dark teal. His perception of reality shifted slightly and he remembered this was Violet's room now. She was beside him in the big bed, still sleeping.

He pushed himself up so he could see her better in the voluminous folds of the comforter. They were both bare; they'd made love last night before sleeping. Convenient sex was one of the best benefits of sleeping with her, but waking up was an intriguing adventure in its own right.

She was so beautiful when she was still. Like a sculpture carved by one of the masters, every line and curve was perfect. Even her eyelashes and the soft pout of her lower lip were delicate masterpieces. He loved that she never wore makeup. He didn't like makeup. It hid people; it didn't make them look better. Makeup was for clowns.

He shifted, wanting to kiss her, but he didn't want to disturb her. There were so many unending tomorrows; he didn't want to bring her back to their prison any sooner than necessary. Sleep wasn't restful for the spirits, but it was a form of escape from the house.

So he sat there watching her as the sun climbed higher outside, quickly heating up the California pavement. He hated summer in Los Angeles. The heat and humidity made everything sticky. A storm would be nice but those never seemed to come till nearly sundown, when he couldn't really see them. A storm now would be great but the light coming in under the blinds was persistently bright white. It made the room seem darker by comparison.

In the dim, Violet stirred and opened her eyes to the outline of Tate sitting beside her. He smiled down at her and she smiled back, sleepily.

"Hey," she said softly. She stretched languidly. There had been many times she'd woke to him staring at her. So often, she didn't even ask him why. She just reached for him.

Tate crawled into her arms and settled over her. She felt so solid and warm when skin met skin. So real and vital. But the electric thrill wavered as conflicting feelings tried to rear up, like they always did. His mother was never far from his thoughts when he was naked with Violet, but he'd learned to push Constance into a jail in his mind as soon as she started to surface in his thoughts. It had become a ritual for him, stuffing down the feelings that tried to crowd in.

Her lips brushed his and he kissed her, finally satisfying that urge. Their tongues tangled and he could feel her pressing her hips up against him. His cock woke and he shifted about, trying without success to enter her hands-free. His attempts made her giggle, which tickled his lips and made him laugh a little too. He shifted again so he could get a hand underneath him then

CRASH!

Something flew through the window above the bed, sprinkling the blankets with broken glass. The lobbed object landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

Dead or not, Tate's heart was thundering like a herd of stampeded cattle and he was crouched, ready to spring. Only there was nothing to attack. There was just a big rock on the floor and a huge gouge in the wood. Hot post-summer air poured in through the broken window, teasing the curtains.

"Oh, shit," Tate said as the damage registered.

The bedroom door flew open and Chad came in like a tidal wave. "What the HELL?!"

He glared hot death at the teens then oriented on the damaged floor. Violet covered herself. Tate shrank down to child form, which only made things weird for his girlfriend. Fortunately he got to his clothes quickly.

"We didn't do it," he said as he threw on his shirt. It was a teen-sized shirt so it fit him like a night shirt.

"I can see that," Chad snapped. "What happened?" He grabbed the rock and went over to the window, carrying the fist-sized stone like he intended to throw it right back at whoever sent it up.

The missile had left a round hole in the window with fractured fingerlike cracks spreading out in all directions. There was no one outside on the lawn or street. Furious, Chad turned away from the damaged glass and went back to the scratch on the floor. He crouched down and rubbed a finger on it, scowling.

Violet pursed her lips, peeved, but she knew better than to get between him and home repairs. "Probably just a Halloween prank."

"It's those pricks from Westfield," Tate said.

"You don't know that," said Violet. She grabbed a shirt, too, since it was becoming obvious Chad wasn't going to leave until he figured out what to do about the damaged hard wood. "It's not even Halloween for two more weeks."

Tate looked unconvinced. "Who else would throw a rock at this place?"

"Lots of people," said Chad sourly. "Haven't you noticed?" When Tate didn't respond he looked over at the boy. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've never noticed how the windows in the stairwell keep getting broken. And fixed."

Tate looked at him blankly.

"Ugh," Chad grunted. "Fix your hair and put some decent clothes on. Then go get me the wood putty from the basement. This floor isn't repairing itself."

...

* * *

Author's Note:

This isn't exactly a short. More like a prologue for the next season of my Murder House AU.

Some of the stuff that's going on in my Asylum fic's answered some lingering questions I had about Season 1 and spurred a whole lot more questions in the process. Like... where did those dead jocks go after Westfield was destroyed? But I digress. When Asylum's done I'll start 1.75 in earnest.

EDIT: I've started 1.75. I just couldn't hold off any longer. You can find it on my Profile under the name American Horror Story - Season 1-75 E1 - Murder House: Armageddon


	2. October 2031

**12 Years Later**

Violet found Tate out on the front porch, perched like a grungy gargoyle on the low wall that fenced it in. He was looking at the yard but she could tell from his broody expression that he wasn't really seeing it. She came over to him and draped an arm over his middle.

"Want to come watch a Halloween show?"

His expression eased when he looked at her. "Which show?"

"Sleepy Hollow?" she offered. She knew it was one of his favorites and they hadn't watched it yet this year. The television broadcasts had ended two years ago but they still had DVDs.

He was staring off across the yard again. At his mother's house. There was a lot of activity over there. Several people were coming and going. The evening hour made it almost seem like a potluck supper but they weren't dressed for socializing. They were anonymous in their hooded sweatshirts and scarves.

"I saw Michael."

Violet knew that was a touchy issue with him so she gave him a squeeze. "How'd that go?"

Tate made a face and twitched a one-shouldered shrug. "Okay, I guess. He's older than me now."

She gave him another squeeze because his tone said he needed one. "You knew that would happen." She tipped her head, trying to catch his eye again. "You did know that."

His lips tightened briefly and he glanced her way but that's all the more eye contact he'd allow before he was staring at the bustling house again. "It's just... weird. I mean. It was one thing when he didn't want to do trick-or-treat anymore—"

"Tate, the neighbors all left," Violet reminded. "There wasn't any place to trick-or-treat at."

"There were still neighborhoods outside this one," he flared and batted away an annoying tear that leaked down his nose. "He just didn't want to anymore."

She peeled herself off of his middle so she could light a cigarette. Once she had it lit, she crowded into the alcove with him, pushing her legs under his. "Do you still want to?"

Tate didn't answer immediately. He wasn't even sure. Halloween had never been an easy time for him but trick-or-treat with Michael had made it better than it had been. "I guess not," he said eventually. He reached for her cigarette and stole it briefly for a puff. "I knew he'd grow up. You know? I just didn't think about how he'd stop being a kid, too."

"He's not like us," Violet said.

"No," Tate agreed. He handed the cigarette back. "He's not like anybody. That's why all those people want to talk to him."

"You can go over there, too," she responded. She tapped the ash off the cigarette he'd hot-boxed. "Do you want to? I'll go with you."

Tate considered it, then shook his head. "He's busy. If I go over there now, Constance will just get on my ass."

Violet's brows knit. "About what?"

He shrugged. "I d'know. She'll find something."

"Well," said Violet, refusing to let the matter go. "Just because he's too old for trick-or-treat doesn't mean you can't go do something else together on Halloween."

The messy-haired boy was unconvinced but willing to listen. "Like what?"

Violet's initial impulse was to say 'anything' but the reality was more limited. Sure, they could go where they wished but there weren't a lot of options left out there worth going to in range. "Well. I'm sure we could find a party somewhere."

"If we ditch Chad's Halloween party for someone else's party..." Tate didn't even want to think about what the enraged socialite might do.

"Isn't your deal with them over at the end of this year?" Violet sucked a last drag off the cigarette and crushed it out on the brick pillar she leaned against.

Tate tipped his head and his brows beetled under his unkempt fringe. Then they disappeared, hopping high as he finished the math. "Wow. Yeah. I guess so."

He hadn't thought about the deal in years. The arrangement had become so much a part of his existence, he hadn't given consideration to what might come after. He wondered if Chad and Patrick had.

"Hey," Violet said, nudging him playfully. He was getting that serious look again. "It's not like they can kick you out."

He quirked a little smile. "Not worried about that, nope." He slid off the ledge and stretched big, then offered her a hand up. "Which Sleepy Hollow is it?"

She took his hand. It took her a moment to catch up to the sudden subject change but she smiled when she did. "Live action."

"Cool," Tate smiled. He liked the gore in the old film. But. "Do you want to watch the cartoon one after?"

Violet slipped an arm around his waist as they went inside. "Sure."

...

* * *

Author's Note:

I haven't been watching Cult so I don't know what sort of uniforms they might have (if any) but I figured Michael's devotees would be made up of all walks of life, so the easiest to get uniform would be the hoodie. Anonymity and practicality.

Hope you're having a great Octoberween!

EDIT: Season 1.75 is officially started. Find Episode 1 listed on my Profile under the name American Horror Story - Season 1-75 E1 - Murder House: Armageddon


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